


Coda

by hannahhsolo



Category: Call Me By Your Name (2017), Call Me By Your Name - All Media Types, Call Me by Your Name - André Aciman
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Fluff, Homophobia, Italy, M/M, Milan, Musician Elio Perlman, Professor Oliver (Call Me By Your Name), Smut, Strangers to Lovers, closet oliver
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-14
Updated: 2020-02-12
Packaged: 2020-08-31 23:23:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 13,969
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20248357
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hannahhsolo/pseuds/hannahhsolo
Summary: How could I have known? Known that this boy would flutter like a sparrow riding on the wings of music ready to burst open my whole world with the sensitivity of an open wound, and all of the intensity.-When Oliver enters that little jazz bar tucked deep in the underbelly of Milan, he could not have known that he had set a story in motion. A story of music, life and love. The love of a city, himself and a young pianist with the stars in his eyes.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello there! This is my first attempt at a Call Me By Your Name fic and I can't describe to you how excited I am! This plot and these characters simply will not leave my alone! So I finally decided to put pen to paper and get it out there.  
We're in a modern setting but there are dates to help you keep track of the timeline. The boys don't know each other in this one, and it is so not canon, but that will become evident.  
Oliver is 24 at the beginning and Elio 17. For now we are in Oliver's POV but who knows, that may change.  
I hope you enjoy and leave your thoughts down below!

1

How could I have known? Known that this boy would flutter like a sparrow riding on the wings of music ready to burst open my whole world with the sensitivity of an open wound, and all of the intensity. 

There was no way I could have predicted it, let alone believed it. Yet, of course, I had to. That is the thing about unbelievable truths. They are still truths. And sometimes the pain of that is too painful to imagine.

And sometimes far too beautiful.

_ July 2015 _

“Come on ya little bastard! We haven’t got all day, mate.” Simon screamed at the top of his lungs, breaking my somewhat blissful sleep with his harsh northern English accent. 

“Yeah, I’m getting married in the morning!” Oh, so Jimmy was there too. And that wasn’t nearly true, he was getting married in exactly 18 days, six thousand miles away in upstate New York. This trip to Milan was his ‘Last Hoorah’, his own words not mine, in an attempt to regain some of the former glory of our college years before he settled down to live a long, prosperous, dull life with the lovely Maria. 

I wasn’t sure if I envied him or not, he seemed happy enough, comfortable you might say. But the man who was the life of the party throughout our time as undergraduates at Columbia, let us just say that that man was gone now. I promise that I’m not trying to be dramatic, only informative of the truth in his case, and the truth was that over the three years he has been with Maria he’s nothing like the man I knew before. 

Each to their own I suppose. But his situation ensured that there was one thing of which I was certain- I’d never let it happen to me.

  
  
  


The summer sun was setting in Milan, flushing the city in a pinkish glow. Seeing the architecture of the place through rose tinted spectacles was a marvel. Everyday was new here, the cacophony of the hustle and bustle of New York City streets was almost a long-forgotten memory. Even after four short days here, it had captivated my enthusiasm wholeheartedly. I’d forced it into the interest of my friends as well, which, I suppose, is why I must allow them a night of drunken pleasures in the underbelly of the city for one night. And I must attempt to conceal my excitement in order to keep up appearances. It is, after all, all about appearances.

_ Nascosto  _ was rather lacking in curb appeal, I’ll say that. But according to all kinds of internet reviews and other things I did not understand, it was apparently the place to be this side of the city. From the outside, it presented itself as a humble door, impossibly squeezed between an Osteria and a shop of some sort. The sound of lively jazz was muffled yet prominent as we shuffled behind the velvet rope, joining the short queue piled for entry. Upon which, I was grateful for the loud music, for it concealed my extreme, yet pleasant surprise.

The club was nothing like I expected, the sweaty bodies and thumping bass of New York establishments far from the quirky sophistication of Nascosto. Tall tables surrounded a smallish dance-floor, each one propped with bar stools, and glamorous women smoking cigarettes- which I was sure was illegal indoors and eccentric men, all with the same heady air of sophistication. Smoke danced in the dim red light of the… I wasn’t quite certain what to call it. Club seemed too common, beneath the place, yet bar was something altogether too ordinary. It was something of its own, buried below the ancient architecture of Milan, a hub of the underdogs. 

Upon approaching the bar, Simon attempted to order three lagers. With that drawl that made him sound like some servant from a period drama. The man behind the bar, with a handlebar mustache and round spectacles, spoke no English at all yet seemed to understand what we were asking, and didn’t seem impressed for that matter. He muttered something in quick, angry Italian and pointed to the chalk board behind him. I assumed he was showing us the drinks selection, one which included no lager at all. The Englishman wasn’t going to be happy.

I used my broken Italian, which was shoddy at best, to ask the barman to surprise us. And with a flourish he sent us to sit down, we hoped while he made our drinks.

We sat at one of the tall tables to the right of the stage area, where a jazz band was mid-improvisation. A portly man slapped a bass while another man, who appeared to be his doppelganger, was playing the saxophone, red faced and worn out. Just beside us was a baby grand piano, impossibly squeezed onto the small stage, that I would have never guessed was big enough, yet there it sat. The pianist had his back to us, all he was at that moment was a shadow of a slender back and a mass of black curly hair, hunched over the piano, enthralled in the music.

Jazz had never been my favourite, I was a lover of classical music, yet watching the intensity and immense effort these men were putting into their craft was awe-inspiring. I couldn’t pull my gaze away. The song came to a resounding finish and rather than the uproarious applause it probably deserved, it received mellow sounds of approval from the audience. The odd clap here or there. I forced myself to remember we weren’t in America now, and people here were a little more subtle than what I was used to.

A pretty brunette in a shirt, tie and apron approached our table, a large tray filled with drinks perched precariously on her finger tips. She didn’t seem phased however as she placed the tall cocktail glasses down in front of us. 

It was Aperol Spritz, of course, the Italian go to. It wasn’t my favourite drink, underlined with a peculiar bitter-sweetness I was not fond of, but I accepted it graciously and told myself I must try it. When in Rome.

“Thanks sweetheart.” Jimmy leered, holding a fifty euro note between his fingers, vaguely in the waitress’s direction. I could have slapped him, the arrogance on his face was almost intolerable. Mentally I blamed the fact that he was drunk, but it was more likely he was simply a misogynistic pig. Each to their own.

The waitress didn’t seem to flinch however, she took the note and with a “Grazie” she was gone.

Seemingly from nowhere a short, dark haired man, with eyes lined in gold and lips stained with red burst onto the stage. He was wearing a coat and tails, donned a top hat and carried a cane. He was a vision of eccentricity. It was evident the regular audience knew him. He stepped up to the microphone.

I strained to understand the quick Italian as he flourished his cane. As far as I could comprehend he was welcoming the regular patrons and introducing the new guests to his establishment. I felt I was doing rather well mentally transcribing until Jimmy broke in,

“Wow, I knew this place was weird but knowing it’s run by... _ that.  _ Well, it explains a lot.” I rolled my eyes. It was times like these that I really questioned why I spent any time with him at all.

I stood up abruptly, “Excuse me, I have to use the restroom.”

I used my time in the tiny bathroom to take a good hard look at myself. I shouldn’t let the way Jimmy talks get to me, I run in some very conservative circles, I had my parents to blame for that, and therefore couldn’t expect my friends to be as accepting as I might hope. I splashed some water on my face and took a deep breath. I just hoped that when the time came to admit who I was, there might be someone who would still speak to me.

When I emerged from the restroom, I decided to purchase a deck of cigarettes from the barman. 

“Sigarette?” I phrased it as a question, and leaned on the bar while he went to retrieve them.

The MC was still talking in flowing Italian as I watched on from my spot at the bar, I needed a little time away from my companions. Suddenly the Italian ceased and he exclaimed in accented English, 

“Ladies and Gentlemen, I introduce...Coda!” With a sweeping arm, he motioned toward the piano. Where the same pianist from before ascended onto the small stage and sat at the bench.

  
  


I say it was the same pianist as before, yet this time, he was entirely different to me. What I thought was unruly hair, was perfectly piled atop his head in a wave of curls that stopped just before they reached his eyes, eyes which regarded his small audience with appreciation. I couldn’t see their colour from this distance but I prayed to the God that doesn’t exist that I might find out. His slender frame was tall, not quite my 6’5” but I would say upwards of 6 feet. He wore a white shirt, pushed up to his elbows, buttoned to the top and black slacks. The kind that stopped at his ankles, allowing for a slither of silvery flesh before they met his boots. I had avoided studying his face, but I must have known that it appeared to be carved by Michelangelo himself. Pure as marble, it seemed that if I were to touch it, it would feel cold and smooth beneath my fingers. 

_ Coda.  _ The beginning of the end. With that first look at him, I could tell that was most certainly true.

This was just the beginning, and he would be the end of me.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we go again, I simply cannot put down my laptop! I'm really enjoying writing this and it's lovely to see that you're all enjoying reading it too.  
Now, who's ready for a first meeting?

2

_ July 2015 _

I needed air. Watching Coda make love to the piano was almost unbearable in the tiny space. His presence was a heady tonic, setting my world in a spin.

Without excusing myself to my party, I ascended the stairs to the main entrance. I leaned against the wall just outside and lit a cigarette. I had known I was attracted to men for quite some time, since before college in fact. Yet, I was ashamed of the fact I didn’t have the courage to come out and say it. It was 2015 after all, and the world was more tolerant now than it had ever been before. At least, that’s what everyone said. Yet, in my world of glittering society, built by my Father, one of New York’s wealthiest businessmen and my mother, the very definition of a trophy wife, that tolerance was just not there. My family was Jewish, and extremely Orthodox at that. They took the word of Leviticus and condemned homosexuality strictly. My father would cringe at the mere mention of gay men or women and if the topic ever arose in conversation, said conversation would be shut down immediately. 

I could never come out to my parents, it would be simply impossible to do. 

My reverie was interrupted by a familiar voice, 

“Do you have the lighter?” It was the MC from downstairs, talking in that accented English around a cigarillo that was dangling from his rouged lips. I nodded and handed it over. I mustn’t appear Italian as he expressed his thanks in English with a smile. I guess I had my blonde hair and blue eyes to blame for that.

“How do you like it? I’ve never seen you here before.” He said, blowing smoke out into the humid Milan night.

“It’s...it’s really something.” I replied with a smile.  _ He’s really something.  _ My thoughts dancing back to Coda. He smiled knowingly.

“I’m Flavio.” He extended his hand to me in greeting. I shook it.

“Oliver.” We went back to silence, my cigarette burned to the butt. I was desperate to ask about the pianist, who’s music still drifted subtly through the air around us. 

“Your pianist is incredible,”  _ Oliver, that couldn’t have been much more obvious, _ “his music I mean.”

Flavio’s knowing smirk wormed across his face again, I had a feeling I had been caught out.

“Yes, and so young.” He appeared to warn with a side-eye in my direction.

“I...I didn’t mean to…” I stuttered in an attempt to defend myself. I never stammered, I couldn’t understand what had gotten into me. Flavio broke out in laughter,

“I’m teasing you Oliver, He’s a great kid, and not bad to look at, huh?” He threw me a wink. And I shook my head. He didn’t know it but he was throwing me a valuable opportunity, it was the gift of being able to show myself truthfully. I had no reason to hide who I was from this man, he didn’t know me, and therefore I felt comfortable to express things I never had out loud before.

“Not bad at all.” I smiled at him and extinguished my cigarette. He did the same and wandered back inside with a “Caio”.

I took the moment I had alone to breathe and clear my head a little. Any vain idea I might have had that my homosexuality was a phase was firmly snuffed the minute Coda walked onto the stage. I couldn’t deny this feeling, not even 3 minutes in his presence and I knew I was never going to be the same. 

Just as I was about to go back inside I was me head on with Simon and Jimmy, stumbling out of the door.

“Ollie! We’re moving on mate...are you joining us?” Simon said, patting me on the shoulder.

I had lost all desire to continue on with the night, if I knew these men at all they would be journeying to some disgusting club with lights too bright and music too loud. I couldn’t handle it.

“No, I don’t think so. I think I’ll get back to the hotel. Tired, and all that.” Simon smiled and nodded, he was always the most understanding of the bunch. Jimmy on the other hand, was slurring something unintelligible, and stormed off into the night. 

“I better go after him. Goodnight, Ol.” And off he ran to support Jimmy as the walked down the street.

My mind was blank as I walked back into  _ Nascosto,  _ in fact I didn’t even realise I was walking back down the stairs until the same muted applause as earlier sounded. It was as if some invisible magnetism was pulling me back inside.  _ Back to him. _

He was no longer on stage when I got back in, much to my dismay, yet I still sat myself back at the table in an attempt to catch another glimpse of him. More drinks were brought over by the pretty waitress, and when I pulled out my wallet to pay she waved me off,

“Flavio has these.” She smiled, and walked back to the bar.

The drinks kept flowing and the music kept playing, getting a little quieter and softer as the night descended into the early hours. I was lucky that my height and stature meant I had a high alcohol tolerance, and though the cocktails were giving me a buzz, I felt nowhere near drunk.

Before I knew it, and all too soon, the lights came up and the musicians were packing up their things. Coda had seemed to disappear, I hadn’t caught sight of him in the few hours since I re-entered. The few patrons that were left were slowly making their way out, exchanging dramatic goodbyes with Flavio on the way, who stood by the door casually.

“Where did your friends go?” A voice smooth as Italian espresso came from behind me, in perfect, unaccented English. I could have almost mistaken it for American.

I turned around on my stool and there he was, Coda. Excessively more beautiful up close. SO beautiful in fact I couldn’t communicate to my mouth in order to form proper words.

My mouth fell open and before I could stop it from happening, a whisper of a word escaped,

“ _ Coda.”  _ My eyes widened with surprised embarrassment as I realised what had happened. We had only just met and I was already making a fool out of myself.

“Well, yes. But that’s not my real name you know.” He said, chuckling. That was when I got to see his smile, and it lit my world on fire. It was a wide grin, tinted with innocence that curled across his cheeks and wrinkled his eyes at the sides. They were green.

I took a deep breath and willed myself to break out of my trance. It worked.

“I’m Oliver Goldstein.” I extended my hand in greeting. Trying to regain a little composure, get back to the cool and collected man I was.

“Elio Perlman.” Instead of shaking my hand, he took it between his two slender, pale ones and squeezed. Far too soon, after a beat, he let go.

“Perlman? Doesn’t sound very Italian. Well, neither to you for that matter.” I took the last sip of my drink and leaned back in my chair, I turned on a little of the charm I was used to having.

“My father is American, my mother French-Italian.” Of course, he was young but communicated this worldliness, that drew me to him even more.

“I think Flavio wants to close up now, would you like a cigarette?” He smiled at me again, and I nodded. 

“Lead the way Mr. Perlman.”

The night had the sharp edge of a chill now as the time was approaching 1:30am, the humidity had dropped, and that was doing nothing to help the electrical charge that surged between Elio and I. I say it was present between he and I, yet, I suppose he may be feeling nothing at all, it may all be inside my head.

He lit a cigarette in his mouth before removing it and handing it to me. His nonchalant expression told me that he meant nothing intimate by this act but it made my heart set alight. Having a thing between my lips that had touched the soft enchantment of his mouth made me soar, I was no longer on the winding streets of Milan, but rather high above the rooftops, watching our casual exchange while perched on the moon.

“So Oliver, what brings you and your boisterous friends to Milan?” I adored the way he said things, his voice dancing over the words with incurable lightness.

“The most boisterous of my boisterous friends is getting married in a few weeks, this is his final bow, so to speak. It just so happened that it coincided with my needing to be in Milan for a conference at the university.”

The university’s Classics department was holding an international conference for academics in the field. I had been invited on behalf of my employers at Columbia in order to represent them. I suppose it didn’t hurt my case that I was probably the only Professor on the department who was in good enough health to fly, and who’s insurance premiums weren’t sky high. 

“Philology, Literature and History of Antiquity?” He questioned with a quirk of his thick, perfect eyebrow. Now that took me by surprise, how on earth did he know that?

“How did you know that, Coda? You won’t convince me it was a lucky guess.” 

He simply shrugged and the conversation was over. And strangely, I didn’t mind. His ability to know impossible things added entirely to his intriguing mystery. 

I liked not knowing what he was thinking. He was a puzzle to be decoded, fascinating because of his mysteriousness. To not know him was to know him, it was clearly engraved deep within him. He looked at me, really at me, the five inches we differed in height making me feel powerful, ironically in a situation where I held no power at all.

“Would you like to walk with me, Oliver?” His chin was held high, he reminded me of a child when they pretended to know what they were doing. Which, of course, he may have been.

The right answers were all there in my mind.

_ No, sorry, it’s late. _

_ I can’t leave my friends alone any longer. _

_ I have an early class in the morning. _

_ You’re far too young. _

_ I dare not be too close to you for too long. _

“Of course, Coda.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! Welcome to Elio and Oliver's midnight tour of Milan, we're all welcome for the ride so buckle up and settle in. Once more I just couldn't stop writing so you have a little more than I bargained for.   
Enjoy!

3

_ July 2015 _

I’d never seen something so marvellous as that night. The night that I wandered through the ancient streets of Milan with a beautiful boy, lighter than air. Elio walked a few feet from my side, his stride matching mine, right to right and left to left. I felt every inch of those meagre feet that separated our bodies, I could barely stand the distance, each tiny fraction felt like miles of scorched desert. I became Lawrence, determined to complete my precious voyage to him, to have him.

A tug on my sleeve, minuscule and all too swift guided me to a stone bench, on the edge of a piazza. By the time I had turned my head, Elio was already perched on the seat, poised, like a sparrow about to take flight, a lit cigarette hanging from his perfect rosebud lips, I briefly wondered how he had gotten it there without my seeing. I sat with him.

His neck craned up to the skies, I marvelled in it’s sleek elegance. The natural beauty of the clear night was made even more splendid reflected in his eyes, the stars swam within them, drowned- a little like me- in his presence.

The silence smothered me, it was impossible to think of anything but him when there was no other noise to concentrate on. Heady with new-found confidence, I broke that silence myself.

“Where did you learn to play like that?” I dared not to look at him yet, my focus remained on the still night in front of me. His answer was instantaneous.

“I had lessons when I was a child, but they stopped when I was ten. I suppose I taught myself the rest.” He gave off that flippant aura again, as far as I could see his talent was nothing to be flippant about.

“Don’t put yourself down, you’re incredible.” Maybe that was a little too on the nose, I had meant his talent, mostly. I feared I may have taken it too far, too soon. I couldn’t stop my eyes flickering to Elio’s face in trepidation. 

He was looking at me, smiling. I still saw the stars in his eyes, even when they weren’t there. 

“It’s what I want to do, Oliver,” He said my name again, my soul swelled, “for my whole life, it’s always been music.”

“Then you must do it, your name is Coda after all. It must be some kind of sign.” I knew it wasn’t his real name but I still believed the sentiment was the same.

“You must know all about signs.” He could read my bewildered expression. “Philology, literature and the history of antiquity, remember?” He explained, making me laugh heartily. His smile was becoming a permanent feature on his angelic face.

The silence of the night returned. We each smoked another cigarette.

“I like that you call me Coda.” He whispered softly, yet definitely. “It means you listen to me.”

I wasn’t sure what he meant by that, but he seemed appreciative, so I let it be.

I smiled in my own way, hopelessly replicating his dazzling expression. I could see the first signs of daylight cresting above the rooftops, I hadn’t realised we had sat here for so long. Upon checking my wristwatch, I found it was 4:30 am. If I didn’t get back to the hotel room soon, they might send out a search party.

“I better be going, do you need me to walk you back?” I stood up and wrapped my jacket around me.

“I know this city like the back of my hand, Oliver.” He said as a way of explaining.

“Yes, but I don’t. Walk with me?” I held out my hand. His eyes smiled and he took it. But this time, he didn’t let go.

  
  


“Where are you staying?” I knew my way but the idea of being guided, arm in arm, by a captivating Italian around the city was too much fun to pass up.

“The Marriott.”

“Ah, it’s not far from here, this way!” He ran abruptly left, dragging me behind him by our joined hands. All 6’5” fumbling clumsily to keep up.

Neither of us could hold in our ecstatic laughter as we ran through the city that night. Hollering and whooping with joy every step, he became carefree, and younger than he had seemed before. It made me soar, once more, but this time I was soaring with him.

He eventually stopped running and pulled us closer together, I seized the opportunity and pulled him into a quiet side alley, just next to us.

We were out of breath, sweaty and unabashedly happy. His back was pressed against the wall and I leaned against it, my shoulder, almost touching his. I must have let the atmosphere get to me because I grew confident again, moving to stand in front of him, trapping him against the wall. His breathing was laboured, he stared up at me with hooded eyes, eyes that screamed at me to touch him, take him. He bit his lip and I couldn’t look at him anymore, I brought him close, pressing my cheek to his, holding the back of his head with the whole of my hand.

“Jesus, what are you doing to me?” A strained whisper escaped my lips.

“Baciami, Oliver.” His voice was sin, it caressed my ear. My name in his Italian accent meaning something different entirely, something altogether more sensual. 

My limited knowledge of Italian told me that he wanted me to kiss him. And how I wanted to, I was desperate to, in fact. But the sweet anticipation seemed too euphoric to break this early. I intended to see him again, and I wanted to save something for then, regain a little of the control I was so used to possessing, the control Elio had stripped me of.

I pulled back from him, his eyes were closed, his lips slightly parted, I could feel his breath fan across my neck. I leaned in to him, pressed my lips to the corner of his open mouth where I let them rest for the briefest of moments. His skin was silk against my lips. He moaned slightly, barely, on an out-breath and the sound went directly south. We stood there for a beat, pressed against one another before I finally built up the courage to pull away. 

The avalanche of self-confidence that surged over me when I saw his starved face was enough to keep me gleeful for a week. He look wanton, charged, delightful.

“Goodbye, Coda.” I whispered as I ran my fingers down his cheek and walked back down the street to my hotel.

  
  


The warm breeze of the Milanese morning woke me from my short, but restful, sleep. I stretched across my crumpled bed for my watch. 10:15 am. It was strange that Jimmy and Simon hadn’t woken me up yet, banging on my door to go drink copious amounts of alcohol once more. I thought that they must be too hungover and had yet to stir from their crypt. I took advantage of the quiet moment alone to reflect on my evening with Elio. It was, of course, magical, perhaps the most magical night of my life. Thought that seems superfluous, and perhaps a little cliche, it was how I felt. I was keen to see him again, though keen seems an outrageous understatement. I knew I had to return to Nascosto, there was no doubt or argument about that, but then again I wasn’t blind to how desperate I had come across last night. The night, alcohol and his presence had all combined to make me into a shameless mess, ready to fall at his feet at any second. It simply wasn’t me. I decided to give myself a stern talking to, I had to pull it together, and from the reaction to the kiss he preferred to give over control, and I was more than willing to take it from him. The idea of Elio falling at my feet to worship me had me feeling things I had never before felt. 

I settled on the idea that I would visit the bar tomorrow night, after my friends had left- they were taking the red-eye back to New York that night- and give him a chance to fall.

Just as the thought broke, my phone vibrated with a text from Simon, Jimmy had gotten ostentatiously drunk the night prior, and made a fool of himself in front of the whole city it seemed. He deemed that he wasn’t fit for another heavy day and suggested they relaxed in their rooms before packing and leisurely making their way to the airport. This suited me, selfishly it meant I could have the day alone, without Simon’s interference or Jimmy’s comments, it also gave me time to devise my plan for the following day with Elio.

Simon was right, Jimmy spent the day holed up in his room before emerging around 6 pm, sunglasses and all to catch the bus to the airport. They bid their farewells and left with promises to call when they landed. This was the time I had really been looking forward to, even before Elio. The chance to experience this city the way  _ I  _ had wanted to, no cheap beer, no noisy tourist attractions, just art, culture, history and music. 

An alarm sounded from my iPhone telling me it was 8 pm and I got dressed ready to make my way downtown. I had felt thoroughly under dressed at Nascosto the previous night and so decided that I would dress up tonight. Partly for myself but mostly for Elio, I wanted him to really see me, and want me. I wanted to be enough for him.

I wore a charcoal grey suit that I had brought for the formal dinner at the conference, I added a pressed white shirt and my black brogues, slicked my hair back and set out across the city.

The bouncer at Nascosto must have remembered me from the previous night because he spotted me and let me jump the queue, lifting the velvet rope with a friendly smile.

I ordered a whiskey from the bar, which the barmaid, who spoke a little more English than the bartender last night, poured with a serious expression.

I found a plush leather Chesterfield couch, tucked by the opposite corner of the stage to where we sat last night, and a little more discreet. I sat back on the sofa and sipped my whiskey, savouring the burn as it streamed down my throat. I thought that the alcohol had a similar effect to Elio, the burn of pleasure, the same as his mouth, sin and saviour all at once. The sound of soft piano music that danced around me offered the perfect soundtrack to my thoughts. I struck me then that there could only be one reason for that, I looked up and there he was, eyes down cast his head bobbing up and down with every phrase of the piece he was performing.

I wasn’t sure if he had seen me or not, and once again the not knowing drove me mad. Mad with interest, resentment, dedication, lust. I wanted all of it, within him, a parcel of every possible emotion wrapped up in his perfect exterior. He was a dream and I had to convince myself he was true, or else I wouldn’t believe it.

As the piece finished, he stood and as her rose he caught side of me from the very corner of his eye. His meandering smile gave me all I needed to continue with the madness. He shook his head and descended from the stage walking straight toward me.

It seemed the boy had plans of his own, he fixed his line of sight directly to mine, his whole lithe body sauntered toward me, just as he reached my table, he stopped, smirked and turned to the bar, ordering himself a drink in smooth, fluent Italian.

_ Minx.  _ He knew exactly what he did to me, and he was determined to tease me. 

Well...Elio,  _ Coda,  _ two can play at that game. 

The bartender poured him a long drink that I assumed was gin and tonic. Without a second thought I joined him, without giving him a second to even register my presence I took his drink from the bar and drank the whole thing in one. His dumbfounded expression had me soaring once more, way above him. I smiled lazily and said,

“You must be thirsty, Coda,” He practically trembled as I said his name, “let me buy you a drink.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact! Oliver's pickup line from the end is exactly the line my Grandad used on my Grandma 59 years ago, and they are still going strong! It might just be the most romantic thing I have ever heard in my life.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back! The start of this chapter was written days ago but things kept getting in the way of my writing the middle, or the end for that matter. But, alas, here it is! I hope you enjoy some rather...exciting exchanges between our boys and the start of something AMAZING!  
Enjoy and let me know some of your thoughts as always!

4

  
  


The look on his face was enough to light a thousand fires within me. His green eyes grew huge as they stared up at my smirk, his blossom lips were slightly parted and his cheeks flushed scarlet. That look underneath the mass of dark hair was enough to drive anyone to insanity, and enough to drive me mad with power. 

The control that had been lost under Elio’s magic had returned to me with a vengeance. I felt as though I would never grow tired of seeing his face staring up at me in that exact way.

“Cat got your tongue?” Teasing him was becoming my new favourite pastime, “Let me guess… Scusi!” I shouted to the barmaid and ordered a Hendricks and tonic in as fluent Italian as possible, as well as a scotch for myself. He was still unmoving, staring at me with dazzled eyes.

“Drink.” I said to him, quietly, once our drinks were placed on the bar. This seemed to break him from his trance as he lifted the glass to his lips and took a long, savoured sip. The alcohol seemed to refresh him a little because he took a deep breath and finally averted his gaze from me. 

“I had a plan.” Oh, he speaks! His enchanting voice broke through the dwindling music playing in the bar.

“Oh?” I had moved my bar stool closer to him so that my right knee rested against his left. I ached for physical contact but for now his trouser leg against mine had to be enough.

“Yes,” He began, “I was going to ignore you, I was going to appear indifferent, let you pine over me. I wanted to play hard to get and hoped to drive you crazy.” He laughed with the last phrase, “But that all went to shit.” We were both laughing then. I squeezed his knee to reassure him and leaned in closer. His laughter stopped.

“There’s no need for that, you’re already driving me crazy.” I whispered into his ear. 

His shiver in response was enough to keep me soaring all night.

  
  


We finished our drinks, and drinks after that, and Flavio had left Elio with the keys to lock the club when we left. He had handed them over with a flourish and a wink in Elio’s direction before donning a bowler hat and disappearing into the night. 

We were now alone, somewhere underneath the streets of Milan, talking about everything and nothing and opening up a world of possibilities for the two of us. 

“You have to tell me, how did you know about the conference at the university? I doubt there are very many people your age who have much interest in classics?” This question was something that had been bugging me all day.

“People my age? You’re talking as if you’re ancient yourself, you’re how old? 23?” Laughter seemed to live in is eyes now, and I never wanted it to die.

“24, don’t avoid the question.” I shoved him playfully on the shoulder. He nodded, admitting defeat.

“My father is a professor at the University, in that department. He’s spending the whole week speaking at the conference.” His eyes shone as if he was telling me a closely-guarded secret.

Realisation struck me, Perlman! Of course! It was lost on me how I had not recognised his name earlier.

“Wait, you are not Elio Perlman as in son of distinguished writer and professor Samuel Perlman, are you?” I couldn’t contain my smile. I had uncovered treasure, the treasure that we shared something deep and meaningful, something in both of our DNA.

“The one and only.” He replied.

“I don’t believe it! Your father is one of my heroes! His part in discovering the boxer statue at Lake Garda is legendary in my circles!” I was aware that I was beginning to sound a little fanatical but I couldn’t contain my excitement at this connection to a man I had admired for so long.

Of course, Elio now made even more sense, the air of sophistication he exuded, clearly a product of the academic upbringing he must have received. His maturity must have been brought on too by his intelligent family.

“I was there, when they brought it out of the water. Hottest day of the summer, two years ago, we were staying at our villa in Crema when he got the letter. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him so excited.” Elio’s admiration for his father was evident in every word he spoke about him. I found myself a little envious of the man he was able to call his father.

“It was the third of the four known sets of the statues, the first two belonged to Hadrian, of course, those ones were dug up at Tivoli. Of course there is the tragedy that they were melted down to be a little more fashionable as a particularly voluptuous Venus, later traded to Napoleon.” I tried with all my might to contain my awe as he explained things I barely even knew myself.

“How old are you, Elio?” He seemed at the same time infantile and ancient.

“Seventeen.” He barely even missed a beat.

“How is it possible that you know so much?

“I know nothing, Oliver.”

“It seems you know more than just about anyone I’ve ever met.”

“If only you knew how little I know about the things that matter.”

The atmosphere had changed. The cavernous bar became too small, too hot and enclosed. All I could feel around me was his presence, I could only smell his smell and that suddenly made me very nervous.

“What things?” Our eyes were now impossible connected.

“You know what things.” His breathing had increased, tiny breaths clouding my thoughts. 

I did know what things and he was luckier than he knew, because it was a dead cert that he knew a damn sight more than I did. He may have been seven years my junior, but it was clear from his every movement that he was more sure and secure in himself at his young age than I ever had been or ever would be, I’m sure. And that had to mean that his knowledge on such things outweighed mine by far.

I nodded my head.  _ I do. _

“You know far more than you think.” By voice was barely audible, but he heard me and that is all that mattered. The air around us was electric, and getting closer by the second.

“Oh?” His answer was barely a word, beyond the verbal yet we both perfectly understood what he desired. He was inviting me in, and lord knows I wanted to enter. In fact, where he was concerned I wanted everything.

My form of an RSVP came as a kiss, to the side of his neck. That expanse of creamy flesh that craned with my touch, the softness of his breath as I ran my nose up his jaw. He smelled of leather, and oranges. The elegant length of his neck seemed to wrap around my head and I hoped to bury myself within him, his scent as intoxicating as his presence.

I don't know for how long we sat there, his chin atop my bowed head but it was enough time to begin to know each other. Really know each other, in the primal sense of his body becoming acquainted with mine, neither of which, his body nor mine, would ever be the same again.

  
  


“I have six more days here, Coda.” He was walking me back to the hotel, in almost identical fashion to the previous night, “I would like to ask you whether you might spend the week with me?” I didn’t want to appear conceited but I knew the answer to my proposal before the idea had even left my lips. The wanton look of longing on his face told me of his desires more than words ever could.

The smile that broke out across the artistry of his face set the angels singing,

“Yes please.” He said as if asking his Mother for seconds at dinner.

We reached the same alleyway as we landed in last night and I pulled him into it once more. It was soon becoming apparent that this place held some affinity with us.

I took his squared jaw in my right hand and leaned into him. I pressed my forehead against his curls that fell just above his eyes, with closed eyes I whispered, “Tomorrow.” 

I left a lingering kiss on his forehead and strode off toward my hotel once more.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi folks!  
Our boys are back again for another chapter, so enjoy!  
Imagine Oliver saying 'buongiorno' like Brad Pitt says 'arrivaderci' in Inglorious Basterds.

5

_ July 2015 _

During our evening together, I had added Elio’s number into my phone, knowing that I needed a valid methos of communication in order to reach him the following day. It of course, had nothing to do with the fact I wanted to talk to him 24/7, every second spent away from him felt like a second too long.

As I got ready, the sounds of the city bustling outside of my window, I took a moment to think about him. As if I didn’t spend every moment thinking about him. He was young, yes, but too young? I didn’t think so. He was incredibly mature, more mature than me perhaps. And besides that, the age of consent in Italy was 14 years old, this was the world Elio had grown up in, a world completely different to my own. But it was a world I wanted, no needed, to be a part of. 

The sound of human activity outside my window here were like echoes of the human activity in New York, similar but quieter, the same thing but reflected at a fraction of the volume. It gave me the presence of other people that I so loved at home but on a more personal level. You could hear the old ladies asking for their apples from the market stall outside, the men chatting about the soccer- sorry, football- over their morning espressos. I felt that I knew everyone, and those that I didn’t know, I would come to in good time. It cam down to personal connection, and there was something deep inside of me that was tying me to this place.

I had exhausted all my distractions for the morning, I had gotten dressed, read my itinerary for the following day of the conference. Today was Monday, there were no speakers I was all that interested in at the conference until Professor Perlman was speaking at 5pm. The thought made me laugh, what a small world.

I wanted to spend the day with Elio then, and so I set that into action.

  
**Oliver: Good morning!**   
  
**Oliver: This might be a silly question, given you're an Italian, but, do you like coffee?**

**Elio:...**

I may not have been the most technologically savvy but I knew that those three small dots meant that he was typing.

**Elio: Buongiorno l'americano! Si, mi piacce caffe, ovviamente!**

**Oliver: You're going to have to give me a second to google translate that...**

**Elio: I'm only joking, of course I like coffee. Why, where are you taking me?**

I smiled at my phone, I must have looked like a love stuck teenager. I of course had managed to decipher the Italian, but he beat me to it. I replied that he should meet me outside my hotel in half an hour, and that might grab one together. He agreed and my heart leapt, I couldn’t wait for what the day might hold with him.

It was approximately 22 minutes later that Elio Perlman strolled down the cobbled street, cigarette in hand, radiating that suave cool that defined his very being.. He wore a talking heads t-shirt- seriously how old was this boy?- with denim shorts and high top converse, his wayfarer sunglasses hiding his eyes, but not the smile that was currently lighting up every single one of my nerve endings.

“Buongiorno!” I exclaimed in an obnoxiously false American accent. He simply shook his head at me, dark curls bouncing around his face.

“What do you have planned for me then?” He asked me with that wicked grin. His smile was a plague I was all too grateful to catch.

“Well, Mr. Perlman, I could come up with some elaborate plan to fill out day with endless wonder but I would rather take it a little simpler if you don’t mind? Let’s start with coffee and then, well we’ll see.” We had already started wandering down the street.

Elio lead me to a small cafe down a winding side street that I would have never found if he wasn’t with me. I was grateful for him though, because the coffee shop sold the best coffee I had ever had in my life, all for only a couple of euros. Elio had insisted I try their canolis and I wasn’t disappointed, they were smaller than the ones we had in the US but far more decadent, and perfectly complimented the strong Italian espresso.

“So are you attending my father’s seminar tonight?” I don’t know why his question took me by surprise, but it did.

“Yes, as a matter of fact I am.” I answered truthfully. 

“I only wondered because I need to drop something off and I thought we might walk there together?” The sheepish look in his eyes would have me saying yes to anything that he suggested.

“Of course, maybe you could introduce me?” I said, only partly joking. Professor Samuel Perlman was one of my heroes, if I was honest with myself, I was a little starstruck that I was spending this much time in the presence of his son.

“Well, obviously. I wasn’t going to make you stand outside his office like some kind of naughty school boy.” The wink he shot me should have been illegal. He was far too desirable for his own good.

“I don’t think I’m the naughty one in this scenario.” I muttered into my coffee. I looked up at him, his half smirk was enough to send a fire roaring straight to my libido. This boy was going to kill me.

I shook my head in an attempt to clear the cloud of amorous fog that swan around my head. Something told me that it might become a permanent feature whenever Elio was with me, and I can’t say I minded all that much.

“So, l’americano, I have something I wanted to show you today, unless you had other plans?” Everything he said to me had the ability to drive me wild with enthusiasm, at that point I was almost certain I would follow him anywhere.

I simply nodded my head and enjoyed the purity of his smile.

We had been walking vaguely in the direction of Nascosto, and I wondered if that was where he was taking me before we took a turn into a residential area with pretty looking townhouses wedged between towering apartment blocks. Elio pointed out one of the larger houses and said that this was his house. Of course, I knew that he meant it was his parents’ house, I again reminded myself that he was only 17.

If I was to draw my impression of what a successful classics professor’s house would look like, I would probably say it was this. Paintings and tapestries adorned the walls, every original feature of the house- which must have been several hundred years old- had been beautifully restored. Natural light streamed through the many open doors and window casting a reddish hue over the hardwood floors. It really was a magnificent house.

Elio took my hand and led me up three separate staircases- into what couldn’t have been anyone else’s room apart from his.

It was at the very top of the house, the attic if you will. It was the size of the entire ground floor, littered with books and the odd t-shirt lying around on the floor. I spotted a desk with hand-scribed music sheets lying next to a Sony Walkman, again how old was this boy? 

His bed was a double- wire framed and unmade. There was only one small window embedded into the eaves of the roof which made the room a little gloomy. It looked like the inside of his head. I’d had to bob my head down to get through the small doorway, and once I was in the room I filled the whole space, or at least it felt like it. The sloping beams looked like the perfect obstacle to bumo my head if I wasn’t careful.

I got the feeling that Elio didn’t bring me here purely to get a look at his room. He sauntered over, and I followed him, to the baby grande piano that sat in the corner of the room. It was a little shabbier than the one I had noticed downstairs in the sitting room, but it was still an impressive piece of kit. I wondered briefly how they had gotten it up here.

He sat down at the bench and began to play, but in a way I hadn’t heard him play yet. 

The piece was soft, and a little sad, and was classical- a far cry from the jazzy blues he played at the club. His face was so expressive as he consumed every note, and with every note I fell deeper into him.

I sat beside him on the bench as he gently played the piece to a close, a few moments of silence followed, our breaths the only things filling the room.

“I’ve never heard you play like that.” I eventually whispered, my eyes burning a hole in the side of his face that still stared down at the keys. He bit his lip.

“This music is for me, I play the jazz for a little money and as a favour to Fabio. But this,” He motioned to the piano, “this is all mine.”

His eyes were downcast and he was speaking quietly, to the point where it felt he was speaking to himself, in reassurance, and I just so happened to be there, welcomed into his little world.

I’d never wanted him more than I did at that moment. He was always alluring, always sexy, but how he opened up to me in that moment made me want to ravish him.I saw his inside, the depths of his being and in that, I saw what we could be, who I could be with him. 

The unwelcome demons were still in my mind, I wasn’t out yet, Elio was younger, I was only in Milan for 5 more days. 

But then, right at that moment, I didn’t give a fuck.

I took his chin in my hand and turned his head to face me. His angelic lips parted slightly and I took that as my invitation and pulled his lips up to mine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for reading!  
Also, sorry, I can't get accents to work on my computer but I hope my Italian is okay, I've been learning for a little while now.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back!!! Did you miss me?  
SO I'm really really sorry that this took so long to get out, it just seemed like one thing after another was going wrong. I moved back to uni, then I got a terrible chest infection for 2 WEEKS can you believe, then I was working full time then uni started back up again, the life of Hannah has been rather chaotic for the last month. But alas, enough with the excuses, here we are. And as an apology, this chapter- I hope- is something you all really really want.  
Also, CMBYN was added to British Netflix recently so a small hello if anyone new is joining us from there!  
I'm going to stop rambling now and just let you read the bloody chapter- enjoy!!!
> 
> Also SMUTTY SMUTTY SMUT ahead.

6

  
  


_ July 2015 _

  
  


I’d heard all the clichés. Fireworks, butterflies, rapturous angel song, I’d heard it all, and like any cynical millennial my age, I’d never believed a word of it. Romance, love and everything that went along with it had been nothing but a source of trouble and pain in my life. The few brief relationships I’d had had been solely about self-exploration, hidden from the world in an attempt to disguise the shame I held for my own identity. I’d come to accept that those common clichés would never be on the cards for me.

How wrong I’d been.

He burst through, not to the soundtrack of angels, but as my own personal Gabriel. Sent from the heavens to bring me messages of the cosmos. The moment his lips touched mine there was no going back, and I felt as if I would follow him to the ends of the universe and back again. Fireworks didn’t seem to be enough, instead supernovas invaded my vision as I melted into him.

He mewled softly and tilted his head, our tongues exploring each other, every inch craving as much physical intimacy as might be possible. My hands gripped both sides of his face while his fell limp at his sides. Neither of us dared, nor wanted to, break the connection we held. I could stay here, freeze time and live happy eternally in this moment. 

The charged atmosphere seemed to shift as I bit down softly on his lower lip. Our lips disconnected as his head fell back in what I can only assume was pure euphoria. His face was pointed toward the heavens, eyes fluttered shut with the milky expanse of his neck offered to me like a meal to a starving man. I reconnected us, my lips just slightly to the right of his adam’s apple. Tongue first, teeth second, lips third. I lost myself, I was taking more and more and I was unable to stop, addicted and entranced, I knew I was marking him but that only drew me in further.

His next moan, louder than the others broke through the room.

“Elio…” I whispered, mostly to myself, to ground me in this feeling. The feeling was so overwhelming I was struggling to regain sight of my anchor point in the real world, I was swimming in a daze of anonymous feeling, yet his name seemed to bring me back to the human element that was him.

“Oliver…” He echoed, I could hear the smile in his voice, the kind of lazy smile that comes with unadulterated happiness, no performance, just emotion.

I trailed my kisses down his miles of skin, resting a final lick just above the upside down ‘A’ of ‘ _ Talking Heads’ _ . 

I knew myself, if I carried on now, there would be no stopping us. I hated the idea that I might be taking advantage of him, of his youth, and so I tore myself away from his body with all the reluctance you might expect. I never saw his hand move but slender fingers grasped the collar of my open shirt and pulled me back to him, our mouths met once more in a mess of passion and teeth. I needed to ask him, see if this was okay, if he was okay. If I could just pull away from him, I could regain the clarity that he had wickedly stolen from me. I could stop.

“I know what you’re thinking,” He murmered against my lips,” I want this. Please Oliver, I want this. Stop worrying so much.” He read my mind quietly and briefly before attacking my mouth once more. 

His piano fingers began to unbutton my shirt, he pushed it off my shoulders and let it fall onto the bench. His hands came to rest on my chest, running up and down through the hair that resided there. He pushed away softly, when I opened my eyes I saw fire. 

The desperate need that was burning there seemed to roar within the both of us, our collective soul alight with what we felt in that moment. He hooked his finger under my Star of David and stood up, he knew it wouldn’t take much effort to pull me with him. 

He guided me to sit on the bed, still wordless. The look in his eyes had softened now, it wasn’t fervent desire on his part by now. Instead, he looked at me as if I was the truth. I was a fact, that this would be done because it must be done. There was no way either of us were supposed to be doing anything other than what we were at that particular point in time.

He pulled his t-shirt over his head, leaving him only in his shorts. I was perched on the edge of his bed but seeing so much of his skin almost sent me over. His shorts were slightly too big, they left a small void around his slender hips that I was certain was only put there to taunt me. I felt that I could never see enough of him, my eyes scanned his body always searching for more, this world did not contain enough Elio Perlman. Yet, I could feel his eyes staring directly at my face as he lowered to the ground between my splayed legs.

Those expert fingers opened the buttons of my pants, and his intentions became clear.

I took his face in my hand, his angular jaw resting in my hand, I poured every ounce of what I felt into his eyes.

“You don’t have to do this, I want you to know that this isn’t why I came here with you.” I wanted it, of course I did, I wanted anything he was willing to give me. But he had to know that I didn’t expect this of him and if he didn’t want to do this, we wouldn’t do it.

“Oh,  _ L’Americano,  _ you are so wrong.” The way he looked up at me was pure sin. “Of course I have to do this, if I don’t do this, I might die.” And there it was again, that devil’s smirk.

Before I knew anything else, he had taken me into his mouth. I knew I was rather, let’s say well-endowed, and Elio couldn’t manage all of my length but good Lord did it not matter.

I was immediately lost in the experience, riding waves of pleasure I hadn’t previously thought possible. His tongue worked up and down my shaft before circling around the head. I dared to look down at him and wished I hadn’t, I almost came undone on the second I saw his wide open eyes looking up at me through dark eyelashes., his tongue working me as expertly as his fingers.

I groaned, unable to verbally express the things he was making me feel. I was flying among the supernovas he had shown me earlier, I had no sense of direction or aim, only to be utterly consumed in pleasure and him.

I was brought crashing back into this stratosphere as he took me deep into his throat, he spluttered slightly but held himself down, my hand knotted into curls behind his head. 

I felt that I might scream. Scream his name and nothing else, his presence was burned into my being and he was all I could think about. He released me from his mouth, his lips glossy and words breathy, “ _ Vieni per me…” _

His whisper blew air across me and that was it. I’d expected explosion, the kind he had seemed to consistently deliver throughout our short time together. But instead I was blank. Oliver was gone and I was just washed in sensation, unaware of anything but his name. 

Elio Elio Elio Elio Elio Elio.

I’d fallen backwards on the bed, he hadn’t moved. He was still knelt on the floor, breathing heavily, evidence of what had just happened on his face and neck.

When I landed back in this reality, I propped myself up to take a look at him. 

He was a piece of erotic art, a statue of antiquity that I would endevour to study forever. Eyes glassed over, palms on his thighs, creamy flesh marked with semen and bite marks. Selfishly, I thought that this was the most beautiful he had ever looked to me, the high I got from seeing him totally and completely  _ mine. _

I used what energy I had to draw myself forward and take his face in my hands, I kissed him softly, the taste of myself in his mouth and on his lips. Our foreheads rested together.

“Did I do okay?” He whispered, the ludicrosity of the statement not lost on either of us. I’m sure we would have laughed more if we weren’t emotionally and physically exhausted. So instead there were half smiles and soft chuckles between us.

I don’t know how long we stayed that way, enough time to come to our senses I suppose. Until Elio stood up and announced he was going to clean up.

By the time he re-entered the room, I had moved to be resting against the headboard, my legs slightly bent so as to fit onto the bed. He had a lit cigarette in his mouth, he strode over to me and placed it between my lips before sparking up another for himself.

He sat beside me on the bed, shoulders leaned against one another, smoke curling in and around the wooden beams overhead.

“So my Father’s lecture is at five, yes?” He broke the silence, my eyes widened.

“Oh there is no way I can sit and listen to  _ your  _ Father talk for two hours in the knowledge that I just  _ defiled  _ his son.” His laughter rang out into the room like a bell, joyous and raucous, it immediately lifted me.

“Oh, you defiled me?” He smirked and extinguished his cigarette in a mug next to his bed, before doing the same with mine directly from my lips. He swung his leg over me so that he straddled my thighs.

“Well...you’re welcome to corrupt my  _ innocence  _ any time you please.” He leaned down and pecked my lips. His words were dripping in irony.

“Enough of the cheek, young man.” I said, playing my role.

“I don’t know, I have a feeling you quite like my cheek.” There was that evil smirk again.

My hand found its way to his ass, I squeezed roughly and he buckled slightly. I was maybe getting over-confident, but I didn’t care. I rested my other hand at the base of his neck, I applied no pressure but brought him down to me so that we were face to face.

“I’ll show you cheek.” I whispered and we met in a harsh kiss. His grinding hips had me growing aroused again, I’m sure he could feel it. I couldn’t believe he had the power to do this to me over and over, it was as if I was under the influence of some kind of sorcerer, stealing my wits and robbing my decency.

As we broke for breath, I muttered, “As much as I’m enjoying this, if we want to make the lecture, we really have to leave.”

He whined like a child whose father had taken his toy, and stuck out his bottom lip dramatically. I sat up and pecked him on the side of his jaw,

“Come on Drama Queen, I have more than one Perlman to deal with today.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> everyone okay?   
how was it?


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everybody! So this one is a little bit of a filler but we do get to meet Samuel, and he's as great as ever.  
Also we have a little bit of a taste of the boys' uncertain future at the end. I hate to say it, but this happiness isn't going to keep lasting the way it has been. So enjoy the next few chapters, after that, the angst begins...

7

_ July 2015 _

We walked hand in hand through the streets of Milan, whether music actually played or not, all I could hear was the sweet melody of the boy who walked beside me. His footsteps were the steady beat, his soul the dancing tune, his eyes the song. The sun wasn’t quite setting yet, instead it only hinted that the night wasn’t far away. Light that was usually white, scorching was a little softer now, silver turned orange as a signal that this particular day was drawing to a close.

We shared no words on that walk, they weren’t necessary. We had just shared something incredibly intimate and the silence that hung around us then was equally as sacred. All I could think of was how grateful I was for this moment, and for each moment that had brought me here. Back in the US, I would never have walked down the street hand-in-hand with my male lover. Not through fear of prejudice or persecution, though of course that was still a concern, but through fear of myself.

I was a different person over there, Italian Oliver and American Oliver were two completely opposing sides of the same coin. We were one and the same, had the same thoughts and interests but the anxieties that existed within my in New York had no place inside my mind whilst I was in Italy. I wasn’t sure as to why, I just knew that my soul found a greater belonging in this city than it ever had in my home one.

We walked for around 45 minutes before reaching the university, which of course Elio manoeuvred as perfectly as he did every other inch of the city. It wasn’t as if he navigated around the ancient streets, instead that he was part of them, he would have wandered here 300 years ago, as he will in 300 more. Timeless, and youthful as the buildings around him.

I opened every door for him as he lead the way to his father’s office. At this point I was starting to grow nervous, for several reasons and no reason at all. Samuel Perlman had been a role model for me for as long as I had been studying in the field, I liked to think he might be a suggestion of what I could be one day. Of course, I could never be as widely admired as him, it just wasn’t on my cards, and I suppose I was happy to accept that, that for now Professor Perlman could just be an idol for me.

I had often thought of what I might say when I met him, thought of the insightful words of wisdom he might be willing to share with me, but never- not in my wildest dreams- did I imagine I would be meeting him after doing what I had just done to his son. 

The whole situation would be laughable if I wasn’t so damn terrified, I struggled to keep my head on the best day but knowing that I had to meet him with Elio stood next to me. For everything I admired about Elio, he wasn’t the most predictable person, and I had no idea what he was going to do when we entered the office. Alas, there was nothing I could do about that but let it happened, and so I resigned myself to my fate and followed Coda into the room.

Samuel Perlman’s aura was warm and happy. That was the first thing I noticed. He was a man of short stature, but huge personality.

“Papa!” Elio exclaimed as we burst into the room, to greet his Father. The good Professor stood from behind his desk, dropped his reading glasses to the chain around his neck, he opened his arms wide and embraced his son. Elio towered over him, I could only imagine how he would look stood next to me. 

“Elly Belly! What joyous occasion could possibly bring my son to see me?”  _ Elly Belly… _ I would ask about that later. Elio’s ear tinged with pink, like an embarrassed child he shoved his Father’s shoulder and faltered for a moment before regaining his composure.

“Papa, this is Oliver Goldstein. Oliver, Professor Samuel Perlman.” Without questioning his son’s intentions, the Professor shot me a beaming smile, looking more like his son than he previously had. He held out his hand to me and I shook it eagerly.

“It’s an honor to meet you, Professor.” I was a little choked, I hadn’t expected him to be so relaxed. Most academics I had made had a stuffy air about them, holier-than-thou almost. That couldn’t be further away from Samuel though, and I wasn’t really sure how to cope with that. When people were cold with me, it was very easy to be cold back, but when they were genuine, I was forced to be too. 

He wrapped my hand in both of his, with all the warmth you would expect a parent to have. Warmth from a parent wasn’t something I could say I’d experienced in my life, but that sense radiated from this man. Elio was making more and more sense by the second, of course he was so sure of himself when he was brought up in an environment of such love and comfort. I fought off the jealousy with all my might. 

He shook my hand for a moment before letting go, pacing around his desk and shaking his head at me.

“Enough with the Professor, son. Samuel, please. I found your study of the boxer extremely compelling by the way.” He was already back to concentrating on the book he was reading. The way he spoke took me by surprise, it was fleeting, yet direct. He seemed to speak exactly what he was thinking at the moment he was thinking it. It was compelling and just as interesting as I thought he would be. I was even more surprised that he had read my study of his research. Surprised and incredibly flattered that he would remember my name and my work, coming from a man I admired as much as him it was a great complement.

“You read my book?”I allowed myself a fleeting look to Elio, who was simply smirking at the floor.  _ God damn it, Coda. _

“Of course, your take on the boxer was insightful, I must say. Are you here for the lecture?” The question was aimed at both Elio and I, I think. Though, I couldn’t be sure.

“Yes, I wouldn’t miss it, Professor.” He gave me a look. “ _ Samuel.” _

He smiled again.

“Well, boys, I have to go and set up, but I’ll see you afterwards, maybe you could join us for dinner, Oliver? What time are you playing tonight, Elio?” His invitation to dinner didn’t require an answer. Of course I was going to go, but the way he phrased the question gave me the impression there was no pressure, and if I didn’t go there would be no implications either way.

“Not until 10, and only for an hour, I think Flavio wants to get out a little early.” This was news to me, but welcome. I saw the opportunity to spend the evening with him.

Samuel smiled at his son and then flurried out of the room. I thought for a second how he hadn’t questioned his eccentric son’s motives at bringing an older man to meet him. He didn’t even ask how we knew each other. Elio didn’t seem to think this strange though, it was perhaps just the way things were done in the Perlman family. It was refreshing.

We were left alone in the tiny office, Elio’s eyes were now directed at me. We shared a sheepish glance before he chuckled softly.

“I’m surprised,” He said suddenly, “I thought you might have a lengthy discussion about how you defiled me?” Tease.

I strode over to him, pinning him against the wall, my hand in his next to his head. 

I shispered in his ear, “I’ll show you how dangerous it is to tease me,  _ Coda.”  _ I purred his name and revelled in the way he shuddered, his milky flesh breaking out in goosebumps.

He sighed and closed his eyes and I pressed soft kisses to his jaw.

I broke with one bite and tugged him behind me out of the office and toward the lecture theatre.

We sat in the very back corner, shrouded in shadows. Our knees were touching each other and his hand was locked in mine. I don’t know how I got so brave, I knew Samuel couldn’t see us, but even being so affectionate whilst in the same room as his father had me feeling like I was being defiant in some way. It was thrilling.

The lecture was fascinating, the enthusiasm Samuel held for his field was inspiring and again explained a lot about the enigma that was his son. Said son simply listened intently and stroked his thumb on my knee. Any kind of contact with Elio drove me wild but the domesticity of this particular touch had me feeling things in entirely new ways. I saw the future as if it were happening right now. And I wanted it. Here and now.

I tried to keep that in mind as if it were true, that I could have him forever, in the way I wanted. These 5 days could be my forever, they would have to be. Even if they were all I would ever have.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love you all, please let me know if it was any good x


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *comes out from behind sofa* Hi!  
I'm so so so sorry that this took so long, I just hit a real wall. But, alas, a few kind comments, and friends have encouraged me to continue and so here we are, the next chapter.  
I'm going to force myself to get on with the plot here, because I really wanted to stay happy in Milan forever but that was what I had a problem with, I just felt like I was getting nowhere.   
So here we go, moving forward and getting on with the whole point of this story.  
I'm sorry again for making you wait so long guys but I hope this chapter makes up for it, I promise I'm back now!  
Love youuuu

_ 8 _

_ July 2015 _

“So Oliver, how did you and Elio meet?” Annella Perlman questioned in her low, soft voice as she spooned tortellini onto a plate. Annella had a comforting air about her, as soon as I had walked into the Perlman’s residence that evening she had enveloped me into a hug and poured me a glass of Prosecco, without a question as to who I was. Samuel and Elio had welcomed me into their home, and she followed suit.

I was a little perplexed as to how quickly she had managed to place out another table setting and plate for me. She was statuesque and beautiful, taller than Samuel with angular features and dark eyes. It struck me then that Elio got most of his looks from his mother, explaining the graceful quality that he had, his height evidently from her too. Though he was shorter than me, most people were, he was still over 6 feet and towered a head above most.

I took the plate of pasta from Annella with a grateful smile. She ruffled my hair like I was a child, and these people had a way of making me feel as if I was, in a way. It wasn’t as if I felt patronised or infanitilised by her actions, instead comforted and welcome; the Perlmans hadn’t just extended their home to me, they had extended their family too. I hadn’t felt that at home in a long time. Maybe, ever.

“My friends and I were out and about around town the other night and ended up in Nascosto.” I said over a forkful of pasta. “I found myself fascinated by the music, and soon discovered that Elio was the one playing.” I gestured over to Coda, who blushed and stared at the table under my gaze. The blooming rouge on his cheeks went straight to unmentionable places. 

“He was incredible.”

“He has always been passionate about music” Samuel cut in. He wasn’t beaming with pride or boasting about his suns immeasurable talents, that were undoubtedly something to be proud of. Instead, he acknowledged that his son was talented, and that they, as parents, knew that. And he let it go. It seemed to me that Elio was on equal footing with his parents in this household. Back in the States, a child as talented as Elio would be placed upon a pedestal. He was fluent in at least three languages, he could play countless instruments with ease, he was incredibly intellectual, and polite- unpretentious to top it all off. Yet, the Perlmans seemed to carry that cool, unaffected, European air around with them, even to their son. It told me that they respected their son, they knew he was talented, but so were they, his mother a translator, his father a world-renowned academic. And Elio had the emotional maturity to see that his parents saw him as an individual, valued him as much as they valued his talents. Once again, the pieces of the enigma of Coda were falling into place.

“It shows.” I replied.

“You should play for us after the meal, Elio.” Annella leaned over to her son. Who shook his head softly, dark curls tumbling around his cheeks.

“No, no  _ Maman.  _ Oliver has heard me play far too much already…” He trailed off with a shrug of his slender shoulder and his head tilted away.

“Now that’s not true, I’m not even sure that’s possible.” I cut in, my eyes sparkling at Elio, who shot me back an expression of feigned irritation. I simply stifled my laughter into my glass of Prosecco.

The evening passed in a pleasant string of interesting conversations, friendly silences and hysterical laughter. I tried my damnedest not to be jealous of Coda, his parents were perfection. Although I shouldn’t really talk like that, afterall, I didn’t know this boy barely at all.

Before I knew it, dinner was over and we were sat in the Perlman’s snug, nursing small crystal glasses of amaretto and listening to the smooth cadence of Elio’s playing.

The gentle peaks of his face crested against the milky orange light of the room, his eyes were almost closed, there were intense moments were his face looked so relaxed, as if in sleep, while he played with expert intricacy and enthusiasm. 

He was a wonder, and no matter how many times I thought about it, that always seemed to take me by surprise.

The final few notes of Elio’s masterpiece finished off and I had to hold back the tears that sprung to my eyes. This was getting just plain ridiculous, I was entranced by him, constantly. 

Shortly afterwards, Annella and Samuel retired to bed, each exchanging kisses with Elio and bidding farewell to me. It didn’t escape my notice that they didn’t even question if I would be spending the night, they simply trusted Elio’s judgement and left him to his own devises.

We sat there in the comfortable silence by the flickering fire that was burning its final embers.

“You’re family is incredible.” I couldn’t even contain my awe.

“Yeah, they’re alright.” He held a sort of smug smile, without any arrogance. He knew he was lucky but didn’t want to flaunt it.

“I hope you know you’re lucky, Elio.”

I hadn’t meant for it to be condescending, but I could here in my voice that it might have come across that way. The last thing I wanted was to lord it over Elio like some domineering asshole.

Luckily for me, Elio was well-versed in exceeding my expectations, and he just continued the conversation without acknowledging my unintentionally patronising tone.

“What are your parents like?” His eyes danced. He had a way of always seeming utterly enthralled with me, with any conversation he was partaking in, without compromising any of his charming nonchalance.

I huffed. Where would I even begin?

“I have a complicated relationship with them.” I didn’t have a tendency to overshare, but my resolve completely disintegrated around him. “I love them, they have given me a good life. But, we aren’t close, not anymore, not like…” I trailed off. I was of course assuming that Elio’s good relationship with his parents was synonymous with being close to them. That of course wasn’t necessarily true.

Elio, to his credit, simply nodded.

“I grew up in an affluent circle, my family is rather well-known in New York, and rather well-off too. With that comes a certain amount of pressure, let’s say. Certain things were expected of me, and I had just finished my Prelaw at Columbia when I told them I was going to start a new degree in Philosophy. That changed things, I was too old for them to control me, to change what I wanted to do with my life, but they could still express their disappointment in other ways.” 

Elio was unmoving, almost as if the tiniest movement would distract him from being entirely focused on me.

“Now, though, they simply watch from afar. They’re quiet, but I can always feel it, I suppose, I can feel their presence. It’s like, they can’t really be vocal about my education or my career choice, because I have made a name for myself, I’ve done well, and that gives them bragging rights. But, I guess, every other part of my life, or rather my personal life, has to be perfect to make up for it.”

In other words, other words that I think we both understood, I had to marry a nice Jewish girl, have 2.3 perfect children and a big house. That was my price for my chosen career.

I hadn’t meant to talk so much, but by this point Elio knew more about me than anyone else in the world. I guess that was a little sad, I’d known him a matter of days. But he knew my deepest darkest secret. The fact that he knew I desired him at all meant something. What I didn’t know then, but it would all become clear.

“They don’t own you, Oliver.”

It would be easy to brush of his words as hot-headed teenage rebellion. But of course, he was right, as Elio always seemed to be. They didn’t own me. But they were a representation of the world that I faced outside the warmth and walls of Elio, and that meant something too.

He had a slender hand on the side of my face, forcing my blue eyes to meet his green ones.

“You have strength. Strength enough to take down armies. Never mind, two small-minded people.” I could have cried.

“That’s all they are,  _ Oliver.”  _ His accent was seeping into a stronger European hilt, “they are just people. And so are we.”

His other hand was on my heart and I didn’t know what to say.

So I said nothing.

I lowered my mouth to his and poured my soul into the kiss. I put every ounce of my passion, of my heart, of my  _ love,  _ into it. For the Olivers that came before me and the Olivers that were yet to come. We deserved this, them and him and me. In that moment, if that moment was all we could get, we deserved it.

We made love for the first time of that night, on that rug in front of a dying fire. The first and the second and the third…

He invited me into him, into his bed and into his body, it was a pleasure I did not believe I deserved, but that he gave to me anyway. I didn’t know how I would ever leave it behind.

Years later, I would remember the way his body felt that night. The way his lips surrounded me in warmth and his skin stretched with pleasure.

That’s all I had though, flashes of sensation and vision. Breathy moans and Italian curses that haunted me in my past and my future. 

He was a delicious ghost that I would treasure into forever.

The sheets that wrapped around us in the morning light were transparent, a thinly veiled attempt at modesty that neither of us really wanted, we were all feather light touches and soft exchanges of gaze. I didn’t think that I would survive without touching him. He was as much a part of me as my own hands.

Of course it would come, that separation. And I would die. 

Perhaps that Oliver, the Oliver of Milan, Elio’s Oliver, was doomed just to live there. Inside Elio, in his bed, while I myself wandered soulless about the world without him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope it was okay?  
I had to re-watch the film to get back into the swing of things (not that I'm complaining)  
Kudos and comments are my life-source and I love them so much, so pretty please leave one down below if you enjoyed.  
Thanks so much for reading!

**Author's Note:**

> How was it? I hope not terrible...  
Thank you for reading and I hope to see you next time x


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